


Introducing Me

by Do_the_Cool_Whip



Series: Kinktober 2019 [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fluff, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 00:43:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20957633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Do_the_Cool_Whip/pseuds/Do_the_Cool_Whip
Summary: Jason has been asking about the original Robin, wondering why he’s never met him. He’s also very curious as to why Bruce insisted on taking him in when he’s never had a kid before. All the questions have forced Bruce to own up to his mistakes and check in on how Robin is doing. Matches Malone does not like the answers he gets.





	Introducing Me

**Author's Note:**

> Why are these getting longer? And why is there nothing even resembling porn in here? It's kinda just... Idefk. I don't know what this is, but apparently it's my answer for the MPreg/Pregnancy prompt. Because apparently, I don't know how to follow the rules of a challenge.

Matches Malone is faking drinking his beer, sitting at a table with two other men in a dimly lit unseemly bar. He’s checking in with old contacts he hasn’t seen in months because he hasn’t been in this area. No. Because he’s been avoiding this area. After he finishes up here, he’ll head to Robbie’s apartment and check in on the boy.

“So, Matches,” Karl Thompson, runner for one of the bigger weapons dealers begins, “is that new boy of yours any better than the old one?” There’s a lecherous grin on his lips that fades when Alexander Michaels, a drug informant, elbows him in the side. “Not that I have any plans of going anywhere near that new boy of yours, Matches.” Karl adds. “It’s just, after sampling Robbie, I finally understand why you were so possessive of him.”

Matches stops, placing his glass on the table, glaring hard enough that Karl recoils from him. “You sampled Robbie?” He keeps his voice steady, low, and emotionless in the way that alerts everyone who has dealt with him that someone is about to get the beating of their life.

Karl blinks, picking up his glass for another sip. “Well, you know, ever since you lost interest in him, people have been trying him out to see what you thought was so great about him.” Matches doesn’t interrupt, but the force of his glare causes Karl to slowly put his glass down. “C’mon, Matches, don’t be like that. Of course, we’re all curious about him. You’ve ignored omegas in heat for that boy—not that he’s much of a boy now—did you really think we wouldn’t check out what all the fuss was about now that he’s available?”

“He’s not available,” Matches snarls, composure finally beginning to break.

Alexander clears his throat, swirling his scotch around his glass, “You might want to make that clear to everyone. As far as anyone with a grudge against you is concerned, Robbie is fair game.”

Matches turns his gaze upon Alexander who meets it with a raised eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“Well,” Karl chuckles, “you haven’t been around the boy recently.”

“I’m not around him a lot,” Matches snaps, voice raising a hair. It’s enough to make the amusement in Karl’s voice evaporate. This is concerning. Robbie’s reputation as Matches’ boy has always been enough to keep the criminal underworld away from him regardless if the two of them were physically together. His training as Robin meant that no one who was feeling desperate or confident enough could get a hold of him. No one should be willing to risk Matches’ rage for a chance to fuck Robbie.

“Yeah, but he was evicted and you never set him up in a nicer shithole than the one he ended up in.” Karl adds, raising his hands in surrender.

Matches doesn’t react in the way he wants to: hauling Karl up by the neck and demanding answers. Evicted? Richa—Robbie was evicted? He didn’t know. He didn’t know because he’s been avoiding Robin ever since that night. “Because I have him where I need him.”

“Yeah, but he’s been whoring himself out to whoever offers the most.” Karl argues.

Matches was constructed with Bruce’s preferred method of interrogation in mind: Bluffing and Intimidation. Instead of revealing his hand, he continues the charade despite his deep shock. “So, he’s doing what I told him to.”

Karl’s jaw drops, a slight paling to his cheeks; but Alexander chuckles, putting down his glass, “Yeah, no one’s going to buy that.” Alexander waits until Matches is contemplating reaching across the table to beat the answers out of him to continue. “Robbie’s about eight or nine months pregnant.”

Matches would have to be an absolute idiot to unable to determine the conception date and Bruce is not an idiot.

**DtCW**

Robbie isn’t in his apartment when Matches breaks in. It’s an even worse shithole than he’d feared, the stench of many different alphas overpowering Robbie’s scent. He settles down in the armchair, one of the only three pieces of furniture in the apartment, to wait for the boy. It’s a three hour wait, which is more than enough for him to stew in his own guilt and regret.

This never should have happened. He should have taken the boy in the second he realized he didn’t have a home. He never should have made him Robin. He never should have slept with him to maintain their cover in that child prostitution ring. He shouldn’t have started a sexual relationship with him afterwards. He shouldn’t have fled in shame that night, almost a year ago, when Robbie had chuckled, lax and sleepy from their intimate celebration of his eighteenth birthday, “Well, I’m finally eighteen, so we won’t even have to sneak around anymore.” But mostly, he knows, he should never have fallen in love with the boy.

The door is thin enough that when someone crashes into it, he can hear every word being spoken on the other side. “Gonna fuck you so good, you’ll think I’m your daddy.” The voice is vaguely familiar, but Matches can’t quite place it. Something slams into the door again, hard enough that the pathetic excuse for a door sounds as if it will break under the assault.

“Inside,” Robbie says, his voice lacks the vibrance of emotions Matches is used to and it makes his blood boil. “Let’s take this inside.”

There’s the familiar smack of skin-on-skin and Matches is ripping the door open before the sound finishes echoing in his head. Robbie has his back to him, his head tilted back to look up at him, his left cheek red. The man in front of Robbie looks familiar, but Matches really can’t recall where he’s met him.

Not that it matters.

“Robbie, inside,” he orders, voice steady, low, and emotionless enough that the other man begins backing away. For a second, he thinks Robbie will disobey him, break character to attack him, but the moment passes, though the coldness to Robbie’s stare does not. Robbie shoulders his way into his apartment, the movement enough to draw Matches attention to the roundness of his stomach.

He really is pregnant. Heavily pregnant. Robbie is heavily pregnant with a child that can only belong to Matches.

And some other alpha was touching him.

He steps outside, closing the door behind him, and grabs the other man before he can flee. Matches was designed to walk the line between calm and controlled and uncontrollable outbursts. It allows him to justify beating the man within an inch of his life under the guise of maintaining his cover. It’s not the worse thing he’s done to keep a cover.

When he’s done, the man a sobbing bloody heap on the ground, he enters the apartment. Robbie has changed into a large t-shirt that he recognizes as one of his old ones and is sitting in the armchair glaring at him. “What do you want?”

The coldness in his voice takes him for surprise because Robbie has never spoken to him like that before. And then it occurs to him that he hasn’t seen the boy in almost nine months. He hesitates, scrambles to think of what to say. He takes a step closer to Robbie, but the omega snarls at him in warning.

He doesn’t know what to do. Should he leave? Robbie clearly doesn’t want him here. Or should he try to approach? He is pregnant with his child.

He stands still like a dumbass, desperately trying to predict the outcome to every possible decision he can make.

“If you don’t have a reason to be here, can you go? And don’t scare away my meal ticket again.” Robbie’s voice is the same careful blankness he had used on the stranger. The sound of it is what forces Matches into action. Robbie growls at him when he steps closer, but the sound transforms into a whimper once he’s in arm’s reach.

He’s scared of him. Robbie is scared of Matches. This has never been an issue. He wasn’t afraid of him when he was a crazy eight-year-old approaching a random stranger to get help infiltrating a child prostitution ring in order to get info on one of Zucco’s higher-ups. He wasn’t afraid of him when he’d been dosed on fear toxin and couldn’t see passed his hallucinations. Robin hadn’t been afraid of him when Batman had been mind controlled and forced to attack him. Some animalistic part of his brain is screaming at him to fix this. To comfort his pregnant mate.

Except he’s never mated Robbie. He’s made plenty of mistakes, but he hasn’t stupidly bound the boy to him in a more permanent manner.

He crouches down so he’s at eye level with Robbie, reaching out to cup his cheek, and ignores the way Robbie flinches away from him. “Robin,” he whispers, still not sure what the hell he’s going to do about this.

Robin glares at him, pushing his hand away. “Robbie,” he corrects. “I’m not in the mood for roleplay, Matches.”

It suddenly occurs to him that he isn’t in the mood for roleplay either. That he hasn’t been in the mood for roleplay in a very long time when it comes to Robbie. “Bruce,” he says, eyes widening with his epiphany. “My name is Bruce Wayne.”

Robbie stares at him in shock. And he should be shocked. They both have always strictly enforced their charade, never admitting to knowing the truth. Bruce always pretended not to know that the boy he made his partner is Richard Grayson. He’s pretended that the boy’s obsession with the Zucco case so many years ago wasn’t a result of losing his parents, but because of a thirst for justice.

Richard never openly admits to knowing Batman’s identity. He makes careful comments, surrounding how if Bruce Wayne broke his arm in the same manner as Batman at approximately the same time, the people who broke his arm may get the wrong idea. They’ve been dancing around the subject for years, both feigning ignorance of their knowledge and the knowledge of the other. And maybe, that’s the problem.

Bruce has known Richard for a decade now and has never told the omega his name. Richard’s never offered his name either.

“Marry me,” he says. Bruce doesn’t know where the idea came from, but he’ll stick to it because it makes more sense than leaving here without Richard.

Richard blinks, “What?”

“Marry me. I want you to come live in my house, make terrible puns that are so bad they physically pain me, harass Alfred, my butler, about embarrassing stories in my life that I will never live down, and be around every single day from now on because you’ve been gone these passed eight months and every day I had to fight myself to not track you down and bring you home.” Bruce doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore. Words are spilling out of his mouth and he has no control over them.

“We can’t get married,” Richard says. “You don’t even know me.”

“Know you? I’ve been sneaking around to date you for the past five years.” Saying it like that is damning. It also puts things into perspective. His relationship with Richard has been the most stable in his entire life after Alfred. He knows everything there is to know about Richard Grayson, and if he’s honest, he can admit that Richard knows everything about him too. He kisses Richard and the omega doesn’t flinch or pull away. “Marry me, Richard.”

Richard doesn’t respond for a second, before slowly a small smile slips onto his face. “Dick,” he says. Bruce isn’t sure what expression is on his face, but it makes Richard smile. “Call me Dick, you complete dork.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually one of four or five ideas I have for fics in which Bruce doesn't take Dick in after his parents are murdered. Reasons to Live is another one of them. I probably won't ever write it, but I feel like this summarizes most of the idea up nicely even if it has gaps in the storytelling.


End file.
